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Thinking About My Weekend Lover

King Llanza

(for Jerome)

Your hair, if left to grow

for a month or more,

takes the shape of a mushroom cloud.

I was exposed to this

two years into our friendship:

My smile has mutated

into a snowcapped mountain and

my thoughts have built a town

for you.

Love, be careful

when you cross my mind. Lightning-

fast cars driven by abstract ideas

zoom on a two-way street

with an endless blind confidence.

Walk your normal pace, no fear

of getting hit. It will happen

and I will be watching, waiting

from the other side.

Each vehicle holds a puzzle piece

of imagination to conjure

a place

a moment

unbound by the hands of time.

It is often a bed in your space

that is not a space

because my proximity to you is

a needle with a successful thread

stitching shut the wounds of our past.

The journey towards the other side

passes like the caress of waves

at the bottom of a seaside cliff

as you are clothed with my inner world.

The second you touch me, my eyes close

the way my body is shed at sleep’s grasp.

They open and you are back

on the other side, ready to walk

towards me once again.

Home finds its place within the cycle

of journeys, supplying patience

to my corporeal state, turning

distance into a platform, elevating

my field of vision, transforming

borders into boundless horizons.

I witness one full moon in my leaving

and an unspoken promise upon return

every weekend of every fortnight.

Someday, in my mind, you

might not make a step towards me.

Instead, you might hitch a ride

to unknown paths beyond. By then,

my mountainous smile will be green,

colorful, alive, and full of pollen, proud

to have grown myself a forest

at the lifespan of my purest intentions

for you. Tie the wind to the ground,

love, and take care.




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